The Soul desirous of Spritual Food
Oh ! treat me not with Husks To-day,
My Soul wants better fare;
Are not rich Cordials given oft
To such as fainting are.
And I am sick of Sin,
A grievous heavy load!
Oh! wash me in my Saviour's blood,
And bring me near to God!
My Soul wants better fare;
Are not rich Cordials given oft
To such as fainting are.
And I am sick of Sin,
A grievous heavy load!
Oh! wash me in my Saviour's blood,
And bring me near to God!
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